


Tired Counts

by the_most_beautiful_broom



Series: 12 Days of Ficmas 2018 [6]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, but domestic and in a relationship already? idk, not even fluff sorry y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 03:59:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16885233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_most_beautiful_broom/pseuds/the_most_beautiful_broom
Summary: For the prompt "We got into an argument because of something stupid, but I slipped on ice on the stairs. I called you to help me, and our fight was forgotten when you got all worried"





	Tired Counts

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” Emori gritted her teeth when the wind hit her as she shoved open the passenger side door, “but you didn’t have to glower at her.”

John slammed the door of his side of the car, wrenching open the back seat to get the groceries. “Right, because I should beam at every kid I walk by; that’s not creepy at all.”

“I’m not saying leer at them,” Emori sighed, balancing a jug of milk between her arm and her chest as she bent her legs for another bag. “I’m saying if a kid tells you happy holidays you could wipe the perpetual grimace off your face for thirty seconds to tell her her to have a good one too.”

“Sorry I had a long day.”

“Everyone had a long day.”

“Why is this a big deal?”

“It’s not a big deal, John; you’re the one who sulked all the way home.”

“I wasn’t sulking—“

“Oh, would you prefer brooded?”

He shot her a look. “Sorry I take it personally when my girlfriend tells me I ruined a kid’s day by not being merry and bright.”

Emori gave up on the rest of the bags; John could take them or she’d make a second trip. “It was a joke, John.”

“Yeah, this feels really funny.”

She clenched her jaw, making herself let it go. This wasn’t half as big a deal as John was making it out to be, just a random encounter and an offhand comment, but here they were, twenty minutes later and fighting about it, after the sullen ride home.

Emori looked warily at the metal stairs up to their apartment, and the ice on them. The snow had been unexpected and she was still in flats from the clinic; she just wanted to get inside, get these groceries sorted, and get out of clothes that smelled like cat pee. It’d been a long day for both her and John—see Exhibit A: the fight about absolutely nothing—and her plan was to wrap it up, as soon as possible.

And it was a good plan, it was, but it flew out the window when she slipped on the ice at the top of the stairs, trying to round the banister too fast, and fell flat on her back on the narrow hallway.

It was dumb, it was so dumb, the whole day was.

Putting down an old rottweiler whose family didn’t want to be in the room because it was too hard _for them_ , cutting the lid of an aluminum can out of a cat’s stomach, getting yelled out by the owner when the procedure wasn’t $70. Making it through the day and meeting up with John at the grocery store, then that happy peace melting away with this ridiculous argument, and now lying on her back on the cold metal, in her dirty clothes on dirty ice.

She’d probably had something breakable in the bags she was carrying, because that’s just how this day was going.

Emori craned her neck to the side. She wasn’t hurt or anything, and getting up would mean being sore; she wasn’t the type for giving up, but she wondered how long she could just stay on the ground. Her fingers drummed on the ice beside her and she crossed her ankles, burrowing a bit back. If she stayed in the sludge, maybe she’d catch a soft bout of hypothermia and get to just lay in bed for a week.

Which wasn’t a funny thought, and today wasn’t a funny day, but it was just so many different levels of ridiculous that Emori felt something in her chest, and she wasn’t sure if she was going to laugh or cry, and the sound that bubbled out of her was a bit of both, like a choked sob that couldn’t commit. She covered her eyes as her shoulders shook, her body trying to figure out if she was going to get over herself, roll over and get up, get on with her life, or dissolve in tears in the ice.

“Hey, hey, hey, you’re okay.”

John.

His voice was urgent and thick with panic, from right above her; Emori parted her fingers to look at him. His hair was in his face as he bent over her, his eyes wide with something like terror, hands hovering over her, like he was afraid to touch.

And the thing that might’ve been hysteria just crumbled; Emori’s eyes were still primed with tears, and the fear on John’s face was enough to push her over the edge. She wanted to tell him she was fine, it was just a lot, but then her shoulders were shaking and she covered her face again because was she really about to cry over a slip on some ice?

Apparently yes.

“Em,” his voice broke when he said her name and Emori shook her head, not sure what she was saying no to.

“I’m fine,” she managed.

“Yeah,” he said, careful, and she felt his hands on her shoulders. “I cry when I’m doing fine too.”

“Just tired, not hurt.”

“Tired counts as hurt. C’mere, would you.”

And he was helping her sit up and the next step was probably for her to stand, but she just buried into him, her arms circling around his neck, clutching tighter than she probably should.

John said her name again, soft into her hair, his hands coming around her back and Emori pulled him even tighter. Cried because it was a stupid day and a dumb fight and she never cried, so when she did, she just couldn’t stop. Because she spilled the groceries and would be bruised tomorrow, and their clothes would probably be messed up from the sludge, and all the while John’s arms were close around her.

He was mumbling something into her hair, and she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to listen or if it was conscious or not. Didn’t matter though, because what mattered was the warmth of him around her. The stress dripped down her face on the back of her tears, encouraged by the easy sound of his voice. He talked a river for her, smooth and steady, rising and falling with the breaths they took together. About how he was worried when he heard the crash, how much of the car ride over didn’t matter, how he should’ve held her before they got out, how he wished he could help. Eventually, he carried her to shore.

Emori drew in a shaky breath, letting go of her vice-like grip around his neck, wiping at her face with the back of her hand.

John let her go, leaning back against the railing, one of his hands coming up between them to wipe a few tears away.

She thought about apologizing for saying he should’ve been more cheerful, and she could see in his eyes that he wanted to apologize for picking the fight. Which meant she could apologize for taking out her frustration of the day on him, and he could apologize for being sullen.

But instead she just nodded, a slight dip of her chin as she leaned towards his fingers. John’s hand cradled her jaw, thumb light and careful across her cheek, and he understood, nodded back. They picked up the groceries, picked up themselves, carried their tired souls into the apartment. The apples were a bit bruised and a couple of the eggs in the carton didn’t make it, but that was okay. Her clothes were pretty soaked, and John was being gallant and pretending he wasn’t shivering when she looked over at him, but that was okay. Because they were okay, they always were, and she didn’t need much more than that.


End file.
